Intro? I don’t need no stinkin’ intro. (Besides, I get credit for having one that was three-times too long last time).

All those adjectives! - Hunter

We begin this week with TyraMail Room Service Tray Mail. I’m glad to see that the suck-tastic poet from Survivor has found himself a part-time job with Bravo. The gist of the message is that the boys will be doing a cold audition. Hunter thinks this competition will favor “all those English people who pull out all those adjectives—I’m a little lackin’ there.” (Does he mean citizens of Great Britain, or just people who speak English?) Not to worry, Hunter. I’m sure there’s a script. Just in case, Hunter practices trying to sell the lock on a nearby doorknob. “Dependable,” is the best adjective thingy he can pull out.

Paulo is confidently looking forward to the challenge—it’s in his comfort zone, he’s done this kind of thing before. Rob, clearly a veteran Reality TV watcher, assumes that the product will not be something that will be easy “to relate to.” I’m not sure what he’s envisioning…Tampax?

“We’re gonna do some damage to the pipes tonight!” - Rob

We make our way to a small studio where commercial producer Masako O. Pederson tells us in perfect English that this test will see how well the men can maintain their composure when they’re faced with a communication barrier. They will be judged on how well they respond to her direction and their attitude. That is the last English we will hear from Masako.

Rob is the first guinea pig. He is greeted with Japanese and mimed instructions. Holding a suspicious green-colored pudding cup, he struggles through the line “Drink Mozuku to get healthy,” which sounds something like “Mozuku de gang ga nee nar RO!” in Japanese (okay, I’m not even close). Then the producers give him the universal signal for “chug it.”

Rob tries. With his facial muscles tensed like he’s waiting for a punch in the jaw, Rob swigs a mouthful of what turns out to be a seaweed beverage. There is a little dribblege, but he manages an almost toothpaste-commercial-quality smile, only slightly marred by the green stuck in his teeth. Later, he worries about the effect on his digestive system.

“???????” - Ron

All the men are subjected one by one to the same ordeal. Here are the highlights: Maurice is shocked that it’s not pudding in the cup, and spits some back; the Japanese model beside him squeals “ew!” Paulo’s name is mocked by the cameraman, and his pronunciation makes the “healthy” part sound like “cash” (but those are both positive things, right?). Ron fumbles the line so badly that it is translated as a line of question marks at the bottom of the screen. Tate is as mature and serious as ever[/sarcasm], but he does manage to throw the seaweed back in the manner of a jello shooter. He can’t pull out a smile; rather, he seems to rinse his teeth in the product. Kev. O’s drippy green smile has the model jumping away in disgust. Hunter can’t get the pudding cup open. Jon’s eyes roll back in his head, and it looks like the seaweed is coming back. Seth does a great Scooby Do impression with the “na ROooooo” part, but it doesn’t look like he keeps his treat down. Despite having trouble with forcing down a mouthful, Matt pulls out a dazzling thousand-watt smile finale. After finishing off the whole cup, Jason looks proud as a kindergartener who just laced his shoes by himself.

The boys file in, and the music is cheesily tense. “Paula” is called up by the producers who, through more miming, let him know that he won, and hand him a cup of seaweed as a reward. We get to see the winning take for the first time: Paulo chugs the mush, wipes his hand across his mouth in a manly way, and then gives an utterly convincing “satisfied” smile, like he just had a snickers. Mmmm…snickers.

The prize (on top of more seaweed) was a “really, really good” massage. So…was that Paulo’s prize, or was the masseuse being rewarded for something? Mmmm….Paulo. Bravo provides us one measure of “bow chica bow bow” music. The massage is given in Paulo, Rob, and Maurice’s room, but Rob and Maurice don’t seem to enjoy watching it as much as I do.

“Freakin,’ you gotta look pretty!” – Kev O.

The boys are wearing the same clothes—so this is either the night of that same day, or they all have very limited wardrobes—as they arrive at the Amadeus Spa and Salon. They are welcomed by a smug bald man who promises them a “whole menu of beautiful things.” They’ll start with a pedicure, which the smug man translates into “we’ll scrub your feet and clean your toes.” Beautiful. They will also have their nails painted, which has Tate giggling maniacally and clapping his hands like Shazzer’s toy monkey.

Kev O. tells us that some of the guys are complaining that this treatment isn’t masculine. He responds, “You’re a freakin’ male model! Get in touch with your feminine side, or freakin’ talk about it in group and call me in the morning.”

The official Manhunt Drinking Game is born: the men are asked to strip to their skivvies again. I predict not one episode will pass wherein someone is not made to strip. Even if the product being sold is a parka. Not that I’m complaining.

“Like two cats painted on my forehead.” – Kev O.

Waxing is first on the agenda, and Kev O. is selected to be the first victim. While he is fully aware of the necessity (he admits that he has “big freakin’ wooly mammoth eye brows”), he resents being thus singled out. And the “wax, wax, wax!” chant led by Kev P. doesn’t help. Kev O. points out Tate’s wolfman chest fur, and I agree that the problem there is much more severe than the one on Tate’s forehead.

Other than his suffering expression, Kev claims “I took it like a man,” and I didn’t see evidence to the contrary. Tate is not so tough when it’s his turn: “Oh my goodness,” he squeals like Alice in Wonderland on the rack. (I guess the Amadeus Spa didn’t feel up to the deforestation job, and they skip the chest.) Jon groans as he is tweezed. Paulo winces, but laughs it off. Rob seems quite at home under the wax, which is more comprehensible to me than Tate or Jon’s reaction. I’ve experienced a waxing or two myself, and let me tell you boys, it’s not childbirth.

On to the feet. All the men seem kerflumaxed when a still-comfortable Rob reveals that he is no stranger to the pedicure chair. Paulo is particularly repulsed. “Please leave me some masculinity,” he pleads. “I like my callouses.”

“Tate looks like Jesus.” – I’m don’t know who said this, but it sure wasn’t spegs

The boys retire to a patio dinner in their robes. Tate is reminded of the last supper, what with the twelve guys and the wine and the wonderful food (though my bible doesn’t say anything about the menu that night).

Hunter is late. Hunter is very close to a mirror (a typical location for Hunter?) working on his eyebrows, which he thinks weren’t done quite right by the professional. There is much eye-rolling and face-making as his obsessiveness.

Kev O. says grace, and it is surprisingly sweet, humble, and free of “freakin’”s. Seth is also impressed.

“We’re posing with a contortionist.” – Kev O.

Tray Mail arrives. It seems like many of the boys have just stepped out of the shower, and I applaud the mailman’s timing. Bad Poem Guy out-does himself with this little gem. The essence of the message is that A) the boys got waxed for a reason and B) the boys will have to be flexible for their next shoot. “It’s gonna get twisted,” Bad Poem Guy promises. Trustingly literal, the men immediately start stretching out. Hunter is quite the little Gumby, easily folding at the waist as if for better under-the-bed storage.

Still worried that his size will be a problem, Paulo decides not to eat before this shoot. Ah, the dramatic eating disorder confession, a staple of all modeling shows. The other men give Paulo a hard time about skipping lunch, and Paulo thinks they should mind their own business or “go and cry to your mother.” Is anything said in a South African accent automatically sexy? Discuss.

“Is this Manhunt or Womanhunt?” – Maurice

Meet John Stapleton, MAC make-up artist and judge. J.S. welcomes the guys to the shoot with, “Gentlemen…or should I say…ladies?” There is a rumble of concern from his audience. “Today is all about pushing your comfort level. Let’s see how far you’re willing to go!” There are pensive looks all around. So who’s bendy now, Hunter?

Tate is the first in the makeup chair, displaying the same childlike enthusiasm he always seems to have. Either Tate is just a naturally happy person, or he is seldom sober. Self-proclaimed “Tater” (as we anti-Tates refer to ourselves elsewhere on this site) you know which I think it is. The makeup artist, Tiffany, is impressed with Tate’s readiness to embrace her work. “Tate has a huge range.”

The makeup artists have been given two jobs today: glamming up our new queens, and provoking their fears.

MA (makeup artist): “Are you worried about people back home seeing you in full makeup?”
Maurice: “As long as it’s not drag queen.”
The MA smiles and smears the lipstick on darker.
Actually Maurice’s look is one of the most mild—just the lips and a little eye-liner.

Hunter’s MA probes his attitude toward tasteful nudity (Hunter denies the existence of such a thing), and asks if Hunter’s dad is a manly man, trying to force a reaction to the makeup. When Hunter retains his composure, the word “kilt” is dropped. Hunter blanches, and his eyes flash around the room. “There’s kilts over there right now?” he squeaks. Ah yes, kiltophobia. No doubt inspired by the 1967 horror classic, The Kilt That Emasculated New York.

Seth is pleased with his pretty ringlets, and his eyes look truly gorgeous in the dark purple shadow. I am not pleased, however, with goofy eyebrow-pencil curly-mustache and goatee they draw on him; it looks exactly like the set I drew on my two-year-old when he was a devil for Halloween (terrible twos, devil…get it? Ha ha…ha).

“Ya’ll gonna put a little Chihuahua on my lap?” - Jason

Like Seth, Matt’s pretty face takes the makeup well. His MA draws a big shiny blue star over his right eye, a la Kiss.

Jon gets spider-leg dreads and matching eyeliner tentacles down his cheeks. The provocateur MA’s try to get him upset, asking about rules his parents might have given him. But only his girlfriend gave him rules, and they were the “obvious” ones (so probably nothing like “Please don’t dress up like a dominatrix while you’re away, sugar”). This leads to a discussion that reveals something new about our beautiful Jon: not only is he physically perfect, but he is also the man with the golden tongue. The male MA asks if Jon’s been tempted by all the beautiful women around the Standard Hotel. “No way. Not at all. None of them compare.” The female MA swoons—sold hook, line and sinker. “Jon is great on the inside and the outside.” A small trail of drool traces down her chin.

The MA tells Jason that he looks like Paris Hilton, and then puts on lipstick and kisses Jason’s neck and cheek. “I’m blushing now,” the impressively unphased Jason says with a grin. He thinks he’s gonna do an “h-e-double-hockey-sticks” job.

Rob tells his MA to “take all the liberties you want.” He wants to win this competition, so he wants the MA to go wild. Rob ends up with a Dangerous Liaisons look, complete with beauty mark. Instead of a powdered wig, they powder his skull.

K.P. is “down with” anything. He says the other men are not “secure in their masculinity.” Maybe they’re just less secure, period, since they aren’t a paid mole guaranteed a set amount of time on the show. Eh, Kev?

Ron is unhappy to have others touch his hair, because he is the sole inventor of The Tumbleweed ™, and no one else can do it. Naturally, his hair looks one hundred percent better when the professionals are done.

Paulo is not confident in his stylist’s skill, either. He wants a mirror, and that is refused. “Maybe I can input,” he offers. “I don’t need your input,” the MA answers in a snippy tone. But she is a professional, and she does not scrawl the word “PUNK” across his forehead.

Matt describes his rubber shorts as “nut-huggers.” He also wears a black leather corsette.

Seth dons elbow gloves and a thick silver chain.

Rob is tightly laced into another black corsette.

Jason waits in vain for the rest of his costume, hoping his wardrobe is more than just a metal gauntlet and “easy access underwear.” He cups himself with the gauntlet.

“Where’s the pixilation when I really need it?” - spegs

Hunter looks nauseated as he stares down at his modest, black-and-white plaid kilt. His hands are actually shaking. The wardrobe guy tries to reassure him, reminding him of that paragon of manliness, Braveheart. Hunter does a round of high-speed push-ups to prove to himself that he’s still a man.

Tate gets the standardized black stretchy briefs and a chain mail coat. He is the only one to refuse the changing screen; he drops trous with no fanfare. Thanks to the fact that Manhunt runs during the porn hours of the night, there is no fuzzy blob to protect my eyes. My retinas burn.

The stylist discovers that Tate has not been judicious in his tanning. Six inches of pallid, hairy skin hang out beneath the skimpy pants. (My EYES!) Solution? I say, put more clothes on him. Lots more. The stylist says put on more makeup, so the MA’s massage dark foundation into his furry thighs. I may go blind.

Kev O. gets another kilt, mesh gloves and a spiked collar.

MA: What do you think so far?
K.O.: (without hesitation) Sexy b!%@#!
MA: I thought you’d be upset to wear a kilt.
K.O.: I’m 100% Irish.
MA: Kilts are Scottish.
K.O.: Same thing.

Paulo worries about going last and getting the left over wardrobe. That appears to be the case, as they slash up someone’s suit pants. Paulo dismisses the fur they try on him first, and ends up in a ripped up mesh shirt with the suit’s vest and handcuffs. Paulo no likey.

“Pissed! Look Pissed!” – Stephen D.

Today’s photographer is Stephen Danelian, of Elle, FHM, and Rolling Stone fame. His vision for the shoot is “Clockwork Orange meets Mad Max with a punk attitude.”

Seth goes first, posing in front of an electrical grid in a squalid hallway. He works the gloves, seeming to take direction well. The photographer seems very pleased.

Jason gets the grid, too. The photographer screams at him to emote an attitude of pissy-ness.

Matt is first in the cage. “My mom is gonna kill me,” Matt groans. “My dad is gonna disown me. I will definitely get a lot of crap at the Braves for this.” But just think, batboy, how much worse it would have been if you really did work for Batman like I first thought you did. The dark knight would not approve…or would he approve too much?

Rob is sent to the “bondage bench.” “Look familiar?” the photographer teases. What follows is uncomfortable in more ways than one, especially with the vinyl bench making flatulent noises. Rob ends up arched backward over the bench, bracing the pose with his legs against the wall. I don’t know if the photographer told him to pinch his nipple, or if that was his idea. Let’s move on….

Kev O. poses in front of an elevator. No John Kerry this week—Kev is all Marilyn Manson now. Kev thinks he did a freakin’ awesome job, but the photographer doubts Kev will make it.

Tate gets put in the cage. (Throw away the key!) He does awkward poses showcasing one unsightly leg.

Hunter poses with the elevator, and surprises us all with his energetic performance. He grunts and growls and throttles himself with his neck chains. “Put me in a kilt!” he seems to be saying.

Jon goes to the grid in the seedy hall. We only see the photographer saying “No, no, no, no, no,” as he flips through the proofs.

Ron tries to keep his game face on as the elevator opens behind him, exposing two pixilated tourists (sure, now they dig out the pixilation). Then the photographer shouts, “You in the elevator, take your shirt off!” and Ron loses it. So do I. Ron seems uncommitted as he takes direction, but he pauses to suck up when he’s done.

“I felt like a gay cowboy.” – Maurice

No, Maurice doesn’t like the bench. But he tries to emote toughness, because you sure don’t want to look like a pansy while you’re straddling a bondage bench. The photographer thinks Maurice is “too cool,” refusing to let go and get into the shot. Maurice thought the photographer really liked him. “Hopefully he wouldn’t lie while he’s doing a photo shoot with you.” Er. One would hope that, wouldn’t one?

Paulo gets the grid. He feels more in control through the shot, working the face angles. He doesn’t like the hair, but since he hasn’t seen the photo yet, he will let it slide for now. He reserves the right to complain later, “if need be.” The photographer thinks he’s trying too hard.

As the boys wait, Hunter complains that the powers that be would not let him do pushups just prior to the shoot. “I want my abs to pop. This side does, and this side doesn’t.” He points out some microscopic asymmetry in his abdominal definition that nobody else can see.

Ever the archetypes of maturity, KP and Tate play the “hit me as hard as you can” game with the chain-mail jacket and the gauntlet. They are merry.

The guys line up against the wall like a really scary gay goth band, and then are sent off to have dinner in a bowling alley. Everyone seems relieved to wash off the faces and return to normal clothes, except Jon who keeps his makeup and hairdo for the evening. Somehow, on Jon the snaky dreads and bleeding eye thing is absolutely precious. *pinching his grimy little cheeks*

“Please do not feed the models” – sign on penthouse door (put there by Paulo)

More Room Service Tray Mail! Hoo-rah! But wait, this is not the time for levity. This is ominous Tray Mail. The wretched poem announces that eliminations are today.

Everyone deals with this announcement in his own way. Kev O. talks about the dream he had of being eliminated. (That’s odd—I dreamt of Manhunt last night, too…but it was a good dream…) Tate is missin’ his little boy. (“Keaton Duke!”) Rob sees himself in the final five. Jason says he would hate to loose any of his roommates, because they’re really good guys. A cloud casts a dark shadow across the sun. Could that be….a foreshadow?

Paulo just hopes they don’t have to stand around for hours waiting for the elimination again. After all, that’s time that could be spent working out. Or tanning. Or reading sonnets aloud in a delicious accent. (Well, that’s what he was doing in my dream. While Seth and Jon…er, let’s move on, shall we? This is already too long.)

“Meet”—transitive and intransitive verb, to encounter somebody or be introduced for the first time. - Encarta Dictionary

Place: the Gallery of Pain. The model hopefuls check out their latest shots. Paulo thinks every single one of his competition is photographing really well. I would like to humbly disagree: Tate, Jason, and Kev P. look ridiculous.

Carmen arrives, accompanied by a really lame, obviously dubbed-in “Oww!” The guys are much more interested in looking at themselves right now, thank you very much. She lines them up with their photos to “meet the judges”…again.

The judges are Veteran Model Bruce Hulse, MAC Makeup Artist John Stapleton, and Photographer Stephen Danelian. They peruse the photographs while the men watch anxiously.

Carmen escorts the guys to the fortress of solitude so that each can face the judges for a private consultation.

Seth is first to “meet the judges.” (Oh, hell no! Will it never stop?) Bruce likes Seth’s dramatic look, but he makes it clear that he’s not a fan of “this type of thing.” Over defensive, isn’t he? He thinks Seth photographs well. Stephen D. isn’t sure if Seth can be more than this one dimensional type of person (because a cartoon pirate in Queen Elizabeth’s gloves is so clearly Seth’s everyday look). Seth assures the judges he can.

Stephen D. likes Kev O.’s smoldering look, but he offers this approval reluctantly. “I didn’t feel it from you,” he adds. Cue music of doom…

Nobody likes Tate’s hairy leg pose, but the photographer takes full responsibility for the debacle.

The MAC man doesn’t like Matt’s tongue-out face of rage, but Stephen D. gives Matt credit for putting 110% into that scream.

Bruce thinks Jason is a good-looking guy, but it’s not translating onto the film. Yeah, it’s not making it through to my TV screen, either. Jason says, “There are certain things I would be more suitable for.” I wince—admitting to a limitation is usually not a good thing in these kinds of shows.

Ron gets great feedback from the beauty team, but Bruce isn’t “getting” his photo.

Jon impresses, as usual. Bruce thinks that he’s overcome his boyish, surfer kid persona and really gotten into this character. Jon pulls out his golden tongue to give credit to the “awesome,” “very energetic” shoot that was just so much fun! Stephen D.’s ego purrs…

Bruce likes the girlish sweetness of Paulo’s pleasantly androgynous photo. Paulo takes advantage of this opportunity to ask if his present weight is acceptable. Bruce gestures to the photo and asks, “How can you complain about Adonis over there?” Paulo permits himself a smile. The MAC guy jumps in to tell Paulo that, “You know what works for you and you let people know. It’s…annoying.”

Bruce, master of the backhanded compliment, tells Hunter that he’s nothing special in person, but on film…well, the photo speaks for itself. Arguably the best shot of the bunch, Hunter’s pic radiates a serial-killer rage that is smokin’ hot. The photographer compliments his ability to transform himself in front of the camera.

Maurice’s photo is sexy and dramatic, but the photographer thinks Mo needed too much direction.

“Sucky punk weasel!!” – spegs

Oh, joy, it’s time for Kevin P.’s moment of sabotage.

Naturally, he cites Tate as having the most potential, and throws Rob in for good measure. The MAC guy calls KP out on his Tate-love, but KP says that their friendship has no bearing on his endorsement. He admits that Tate is mentally not there yet, and we get a flashback to previously in the day as Tate pees into a cup rather than find a bathroom.

KP goes after the models he feels threatened by: he bags on Paulo for not having fun and being difficult to be around; he thinks Ron doesn’t have what it takes to make it to the top; he goes off on Seth, saying he’s not an attractive guy and he doesn’t have “it;” he even takes on golden boy Jon, pointing out that he is too short.

MAC guy asks about KP’s picture. In a moment of humility that I would bet is completely feigned, KP sighs, “I need a lot of work.” Insincere…but true.

Don’t get attached. – a bitter spegs

The men engage in what they call a huddle, and what I call a group hug. It seems everyone loves everyone this week, and there is no one calling for Tate or KP’s head except me. Matt says that the saddest thing about being eliminated tonight would be missing out on all the fun the guys are having.

But Carmen’s back and the lovefest is over. Two are going home. All are tense. Bruce says everyone in this group has a chance to make it in the modeling world, and then bails.

Carmen first calls…Ron. “This was your last shot.” (Unless Bruce is right.) Ron breaks down into tears in the hall.

Carmen then calls…Seth.

Okay, fully acknowledging that I am but human and therefore easily biased, that is crap!

*deep, cleansing breaths*

Seth and Ron sit listlessly in the hallway, waiting for the cameraman to get enough “pain” footage. KP, sleep with one eye open. That’s all I’m going to say.

The Curse of Jason’s Bedroom – creepy voice of foreboding doom

Carmen congratulates the top ten. Maurice is thrilled to be one of the ten, “where I should be…where everyone said I would be.” Jon thinks Paulo, KP, and Kev O. are “really in there. It’s going to be tough.” Ah, the endearing modesty from the golden tongue.

Jason is sad to see too more of his roommates get cut after the previous week’s massacre. Matt is terrified to be the sole survivor of sharing a room with Jason. He contemplates a move. Maurice says he’ll sleep on the floor before he shares a room with Jason.

Next Week on Manhunt

Rob comes out of the closet. “I have absolutely no idea how the other guys did not know that I was gay,” says pedicure boy.

New gaydars are put on order.

“One man’s truth is another man’s freak out session,” the Voiceover Woman says, implying that the sobbing-with-head-in-a-towel fit that Hunter throws (“Last night, I heard some stuff I’ve never heard before.”) is somehow related to Rob’s announcement.

And spegs also sobs into a towel, missing Seth on her TV. <-- unashamed bias

The official Manhunt Drinking Game is born: the men are asked to strip to their skivvies again. I predict not one episode will pass wherein someone is not made to strip. Even if the product being sold is a parka. Not that I’m complaining.

so, so funny!!!! i feel like im watching the show. thank you so much!!!

10-28-2004, 04:04 PM

oneTVslave

Goodness spegs, that was spegstacular! :yay You may have inspired me to watch next week, if for no reason other than to see the objects of your affection, which you describe with such a loving eye/ear. ;)

I love this part:

Quote:

Ah yes, kiltophobia. No doubt inspired by the 1967 horror classic, The Kilt That Emasculated New York.

:lol

10-28-2004, 05:08 PM

ShrinkingViolet

From the opening line to the closing line, stellar recap, spegs! Your recaps are such a joy to read--and far more entertaining than the actual show. But of course I will still watch the show. ;)